A Chrismukkah Carol
by Silverspoon
Summary: WARNING - Contains spoilers for season 3. AU. Collab. between WelshWitch1011 and Silverspoon. "Following his depraved act of vengeance, Director Coulson is taught the true meaning of second chances."
1. Chapter 1

_**Authors' Notes -**_ We own nothing. If we did, the actual show would be better. Please note that this fic contains massive **spoilers** for season 3, so if you haven't seen it yet then back away slowly. On the other hand, if you have witnessed the atrocity that was the season 3 mid-series finale then come on in, pull up a chair, and read our thinly veiled rant about the victim-blaming, steaming, hypocritical pile of doo-doo that is currently AOS. In case you missed it, we are ANGRY.

On a brighter note, Chag Sameach to all our fellow Jewish readers. Alternatively, Merry Christmas, if that's the way you're inclined. If that one isn't right either then please insert your own festive/ non-festive/ Star Trek themed/ polite greeting here, and have a good one.

Finally, none of our fics have been abandoned. We wouldn't do that. All fics in all fandoms will eventually be finished but our real lives are kind of crazy right now. One of us has two jobs and is in medical school, and the other has four young children, a part time job, and a youth group to run. Repeat, please be patient with us, we have NOT abandoned you.

Now on to the Coulson bashing...

 **A Chrismukkah Carol**

 **Part I**

The menorah had been in his family for four generations. For an inanimate object, it had seen a lot; the laughter and mirth of small children caught up in the festivities of the season, the quiet sadness and resilient defiance of families practicing their faith whilst living in hiding, and finally the depths of a battered, leather suitcase as it had crossed the Atlantic Ocean, hidden among hastily packed clothing, and yet never truly far from its owner's mind.

It was both small and modest, made of solid brass with an ornate star of David etched just below the central candle holder. As a child, Philip Coulson had watched in awe and wonder as his mother had recited the blessings and then lit each candle with her long, slender fingers. He recalled home-made doughnuts, a grudgingly worn yarmulke that had made the crown of his head itch terribly, and the sense of unwavering hope that had seemed to hang in the air for eight days and nights. His childhood memories were indeed fond ones, and so the chanukiah had been the one item he had insisted on claiming from his mother's belongings when she had passed away all those many years ago. He was ashamed to admit that he had forgotten the blessings - that they were lost to the darkest recesses of his mind - and that his Hebrew was now more than just a little rusty after decades of having turned his back on his heritage.

Now, as he moved to light the shamash candle with a match, Philip Coulson's hand trembled. Frowning, he steadied his own wrist with his replacement robotic hand; less than twenty four hours before, its predecessor had crushed the life from Grant Ward's body.

He steeled himself against the niggling guilt that pricked at what remained of his conscience - avoiding these feelings was perhaps made even easier by the distinct absence of empathy from his heart, now almost as cold and mechanical as his hand. Ward had deserved to die. Yet he had helped to save Fitz from certain death. He was a monster. Yet he was only what Garrett and his parents had made him. He was a sociopath. But he was a frightened and abused child, starved of any kind of love or understanding for all of his years on Earth.

Coulson refused to think about these things now; they could be filed away, neatly categorised and catalogued in a drawer in his mind until such a day as it no longer mattered. Right now, if he considered what he had done, remorse would perhaps be all consuming, and Phil Coulson liked nothing more than to feel righteous.

He turned as he sensed a presence in the doorway of his office, and he smiled as his eyes fell upon Skye - he would never get used to calling her Daisy - lingering uncertainly in the hallway. Arms drawn tight around her body, her face was pale and ashen, and when she eventually spoke she pointedly ignored Coulson's gaze.

It wasn't too difficult to tell that she had been crying and though he desperately wanted to tell her that his actions had been for the greater good, and that her tears were wasted on Grant Ward, the fury etched deep within her features kept him from doing so.

"I'm going to take a few days..." she said quietly, "I need to figure some things out."

Coulson winced then turned to intercept her gaze - something she seemed unwilling to allow.

"Okay," he began dubiously, "should I be concerned about this?"

"I don't know. Should you?" she shot back, shaking her head as a sad smile appeared all too briefly upon her lips. Blinking repeatedly, Skye hugged her arms tighter around herself and nodded towards the menorah. "It's beautiful."

Coulson nodded, staring wistfully at the flames as they danced.

"It belonged to my mother, Vivian. The festival of light... meant to commemorate the miracle of the oil in the first temple, and the Maccabees' victory over the Greeks... I don't usually bother, but..." he paused to allow himself a brief smile, "I just felt like I wanted to this year."

"You asking her for forgiveness?" Skye demanded, cocking her head, "you know, you might want to start a little closer to home. Fitz? Me?"

Coulson remained silent and closed lipped, his eyes wandering back to the flames as the brightly coloured candles began to drip wax onto his desk top.

"Tomorrow is the eighth night," he commented, as though that should mean something to Skye, who only continued to stare at a specific spot on the carpet. Turning back to his youngest agent, Coulson forced a smile that his brain told him almost immediately would not be well received. As predicted, Skye scowled back at him but Coulson elected not to be deterred. He moved forward, hand outstretched as though he planned to wrap an arm around Skye's shoulder.

"What do you say I cook? Tomorrow, a big dinner for the whole team," Coulson offered, his excitement growing at the prospect. It had been a while since he had last cooked, perhaps even back on the Bus, and the idea of gathering his big, old, dusty recipe books around himself and cooking up a storm seemed oddly appealing in the wake of such a battle.

"I can do the works. Latkes, brisket, challah bread..." he rattled off, eyes alive with excitement. He lowered his voice to an almost conspirital whisper as he added, temptingly, "Soufganiyot with chocolate dipping sauce. I know you've never had those! Come on, what do you say?"

Skye felt her mouth grow dry and a wave of nausea rose up from her stomach at such speed that she visibly paled as she shook her head.

"Not really feeling like celebrating right now. I think I'll pass."

Coulson sighed heavily, reaching out despite the fact Skye froze at the threat of his touch. His words were meant to be comforting, yet there was an air of accusation and irritation that made Skye withdraw from range.

"I didn't know you still had feelings for him."

"Yeah. Apparently so," she replied, consenting to level a truly accusatory and damning look at the S.H.I.E.L.D. director. "I have to get out of here. I'll be gone until Tuesday. Don't... don't come looking for me."

Coulson frowned worriedly, concerned he was about to lose one of his most trusted and gifted agents. "But you'll be back... right?"

Skye ignored him, turning on her heel and striding toward the door. Coulson's commanding tone stopped her in her tracks, although more out of irritation than adherence to his perceived authority.

"Agent Skye?" he barked, instantly regretting the gruff tone of voice as she wheeled around to face him.

"Don't call me that. My name's Daisy. Daisy... and... I need to figure out exactly who it is I'm working for, because who you've become... that's not the guy I met, the guy I looked up to. This.." she gestured towards him with one hand, her lip curled upward in disgust, "I don't know who you are but I know that I don't like you. I don't respect you, and I sure as Hell don't want to be like you. You said Ward was a monster? Look in the mirror, sir."

Turning on her heel, Skye left little opportunity for a rebuttal before disappearing through the doorway and, as her boots pounded against the tiles of the hall outside, Coulson was left alone once more with only his thoughts for company. Sinking down into the chair at his desk, he released a long, slow sigh as he peered at the flickering candles.

Slamming his fist down on the desk, he exhaled forcefully and extinguished them all.

 **x-x-x**

He woke abruptly to the sound of his custom Captain America radio alarm clock blaring from its position on his desk. With a groan, Coulson raised his head from where it had been propped on his arms, his neck twisted at an odd angle that was certain to leave a lingering soreness for the rest of the day.

Rubbing a hand over his bleary eyes, Coulson squinted at the illuminated numbers on the LED screen of his clock, frowning as he realised that it was almost midnight and yet not one of his team members had thought to disturb him and hasten him to bed.

"Guess I deserve it," Coulson muttered under his breath, shivering at the sudden chill that had descended over the office. He wondered if the boiler was on the fritz again or if on her way off base Skye had simply hacked the heating controls to his office in vengeance; whichever explanation it was, Coulson's breath formed an immediate white cloud as it was expelled from his lips, and underneath the sleeves of his grey jumper goosebumps stood prominent on his flesh. Reaching out with his robotic hand, he gently hit the snooze button on the clock, silencing the recording of Steve Rogers' voice that called repeatedly and somewhat obnoxiously for the Avengers to assemble. The clock had been a gag gift from Skye, back from the Bus days, that Coulson had mocked at the time and yet quickly come to treasure. When Skye had first walked into his new office at the Playground and spotted it sitting pride of place on his desk, she had said nothing but the widest smile had formed upon her lips.

"Yeah, boss. You messed up good."

The voice came from the darkest corner of the room and, for just a moment, Coulson's heart stilled in his chest at the familiarity of the warm, velvet tones. The hairs on the nape of his neck were suddenly erect and a shudder that had nothing to do with the icy temperatures wracked his entire body. He was still asleep, still lost in a dream brought on by his misplaced guilt over the events of the past day; that was the only possible explanation.

His eyes scanned the room for some tall, looming figure and yet none appeared before him. Coulson leaned back in his seat in immediate relief, feeling at once irritated and foolish at his reaction to what was most likely accountable to the lingering vestiges of sleep clinging to his mind.

There was a low, long whistle, and then, "You really fucked it up this time, huh?"

Turning abruptly in his seat, Coulson let out a startled gasp as the warm, dark eyes of Antoine Triplett regarded him with something that almost resembled pity.

"Trip?" Coulson managed as he blinked repeatedly, trying to dispel the spirit and wake himself from what was clearly a guilt induced nightmare.

Trip laughed softly, gesturing to himself as he shrugged and made no attempt to explain his appearance. "In the flesh... in a manner of speaking."

"But you're..." Coulson shook his head, wondering why on Earth he was now engaged in conversation with an apparition who was clearly nothing more than the child of his abandoned conscience.

"Corporeally challenged? Yeah. Don't use the 'd' word. Us spirit folks don't like it when you use the 'd' word."

"Folks? There's more of you?" Coulson glanced discretely around the room to be on the safe side, although he saw no other sign of further unearthly visitors.

"Oh, we're everywhere. Watching, waiting, looking over the people we loved and who loved us. We saw what went down today, boss," Trip leaned forward in his seat, as if choosing his words carefully. "That was some messed up shit, dude. I don't have to tell you that you made the wrong choice back there 'cos I know you already realised that."

Coulson bristled, "I did what needed to be done. Sometimes the right choice is... is difficult."

Trip shook his head, waving his hand dismissively as he replied, "You know what's even harder? The wrong choice. And right now, you can't begin to understand how that decision is gonna come back to bite you in the ass."

"Daisy and Fitz will get over it, they're agents, they..."

Trip sat back and regarded his former employer in silence. Finally consenting to nod his head in agreement, Tripp continued on.

"Yeah, they will. But there will be consequences, Coulson. Consequences you can't even imagine right now. That's why I'm here."

Coulson shook his head and laughed bitterly, "To show me the error of my ways, you mean? Like a Victorian spectre? You bringing the Muppets along too?"

Trip threw back his head, letting out a loud and familiar guffaw of laughter that brought a pang of grief to Coulson's heart. He had genuinely liked and admired the young Specialist, and Triplett's loss was one still felt acutely by the whole team, himself included.

"I used to love that movie," he stated, whispering as though he were imparting a great confidence to his former boss, "damn near wore out the VHS back in the day. My Mom was so sick of it that she made me go to my grandma's every time I wanted to watch it in the end."

Coulson smiled faintly, "You're not real. I know you're not real. This is a dream..."

"A reflection of your guilt, boss man?" Trip inquired, grin crooked and tone teasing. Coulson only shrugged, though his sour expression more than betrayed his reluctance to admit to even the slightest sliver of remorse when it came to Grant Ward's death.

"If you like," he shot back, propping his feet up on his desk and crossing his legs at the ankles. He folded both hands on his stomach and regarded Trip levelly. The man seemed as real and solid as the chair he was seated in, the only visible sign of his passing being the faintest blue tinge that seemed to cling to his lips.

" _'There is more of gravy than of grave about you'_ ," Trip teased, white teeth flashing in the darkness as he grinned. "I forget if that's in the book or not. Be cool if I had like this chorus of singing mice and chickens and shit but... it's just me, man."

Coulson smiled faintly, "And I suppose you're here to tell me to expect the first ghost when the Captain America clock strikes one?"

Trip stood up and jammed his hands in his pockets, "Pssht. Dude we got more work to do than that tonight. There's no pansy ass 'on the hour, every hour' routine for you. No, you can expect your first... educator... let's not use the nasty 'g' word, we're gonna call them 'educators'... in about 10... 20 minutes tops."

The jovial, almost jokey tone of voice disappeared as he stared directly into Coulson's eyes, practically imploring him to heed his words, "This is real important stuff, sir. Don't let us all down."

"Sure," Coulson replied, gazing at Trip, his smile indicating that he assumed he was doing nothing more than placating the figure of a particularly cruel dream.

"I mean it, Coulson," Trip insisted, all traces of humour and mirth vanishing as he took a step towards the other man, his already towering frame seeming to somehow grow by several imposing inches as he peered at the S.H.I.E.L.D. director.

Coulson only swallowed hard, something about the dream suddenly beginning to unnerve him, although he couldn't quite put his bionic finger on exactly what.

"Just listen to what my guys have to say," Trip implored, his voice softening as he added, "stop focusing on the bigger picture 'cos, man, that's when you overlook every single brush stroke in between. Take just one of those away and that picture don't look the same any more. Maybe it's messed up, maybe it's more beautiful, maybe it's just... changed. But you ain't gonna know until you really look."

After a pause, Coulson consented to a small smile as he inquired, "When did you become so poetically cryptic, Agent Triplet?"

Trip scoffed, eyes twinkling as he declared, "You kidding? I got poetry coming out the wazoo."

The two men chuckled and, for just the briefest of moments, a companionable silence descended in which they regarded each other on equal footing; old friends and colleagues, all their darkest secrets laid bare.

"You're not a bad man, Coulson. But you're making some seriously whacked out decisions and pretty soon? What's left of your conscience, of all that good we saw in you, that's all gonna be gone. Don't be that guy. Listen to what they have to say, _really_ listen. And then think about that one decision you made that changed it all."

Coulson raised an eyebrow, "I don't suppose you're going to tell me what decision you think that was?"

Trip cocked his head and smiled, absently pushing his fist into his open palm before he stepped back towards the shadows and clicked his fingers to command Coulson's attention.

"Nah. But you'll know. Honestly? You probably know already. Everyone deserves a second chance, right?"

Coulson swallowed hard at hearing his own words relayed back to him but as he lifted his gaze to Trip's face, the man was gone.

"I'm asleep. I've got to be asleep, this is a dream," Coulson muttered, his heart rate quickening as he found himself nervously scanning the room for further signs of movement. He half expected the alarm clock to blare back into life again and he lost more than a minute or two simply staring at it, willing it to prove his expectations right. When nothing happened, he was slightly disappointed.

Until a throaty chuckle broke through the perfect silence.

"Whatever gets you through the night, Phil."

There was no mistaking that voice and as Coulson dragged his unwilling gaze across his desk, the torso of a man all clad in black alerted him to his new visitor's identity.

"How ya been, buddy?" John Garret smiled a brilliant smile as he perched on the edge of the S.H.I.E.L.D. director's desk, waiting patiently for Coulson to find his voice. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A Chrismukkah Carol**

 **Part II**

Of all the potential deaths he had been responsible for throughout the course of his life, John Garrett's was perhaps the one that Coulson could not bring himself to regret, almost as much as Ward's. Really, the man had had it coming, having already skipped several states past the sanity line before he had been instrumental in the big Hydra reveal that had almost buried S.H.I.E.L.D. There wasn't a single thing about the former agent's last breath that Coulson could encourage himself to feel remorseful about, and that fact worried the director; it didn't bode well for this supposed spiritual journey of enlightenment if he was to be guided by the spirits of people whose guts he quite frankly hated.

"Why is this even happening to me?" Coulson demanded, his patience fraying as he stared up into the grinning face of his old friend and later adversary. "I'm Jewish!"

"Well, that doesn't seem to be of concern to the big guy upstairs," Garrett chuckled, leaning forwards with his hands splayed across the desk as he added, "and trust me, Phil, he's pretty ticked at you right now."

"You're trying to tell me God has a hand in this?" Coulson scoffed, rolling his eyes as he sat back in blatant disbelief, eyeing Garrett with a disdainful expression spread across his features.

"Well, I don't mean Santa Claus, that's for sure," replied Garrett, his smile only broadening with each passing moment.

Garrett sighed and paused for a moment, before Coulson caught sight of an expression he had once believed was John Garrett's 'earnest' face.

"Look Phil, I don't want to be here any more than you do, I didn't volunteer for Casper duty, okay?! It's just something I've gotta do."

Coulson frowned, "Like some sort of spiritual community payback deal?"

Garrett shrugged and then bobbed his head, "I guess so. But I'm not here to talk about you and me, Phil. I'm here to give you a little enlightenment."

With a derisive snort, Coulson folded his hands in his lap. "This should be good."

Garrett held up his hands defensively and then climbed to his feet with almost as much reluctance as Coulson currently exuded.

"Hey, as I said, this isn't about us, pal. We can go on hating each other's guts long after all this is over. Truth is, I personally couldn't give a damn about your karma. I'm not here for you. I'm here about my boy, Ward."

With an expression that bordered on actual remorse, Garrett paused as he gazed down at the ground, before offering a reluctant explanation.

"What I did to the kid? It was wrong, okay? He was this impressionable young punk with a family that beat him down until he was a shell of a human being... just ripe for moulding into the ultimate soldier."

Coulson licked his lips in an effort to dispel the bad taste that suddenly appeared in his mouth.

"You saw a rage inside him and you exploited it..." he began, stopping in his tracks as Garrett looked down at him like his lack of understanding was a genuine surprise.

"No," he insisted with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, "I saw fear."

Coulson blanched, the angry tirade that had been poised on the tip of his tongue suddenly dying before it had chance to pass his lips.

"I will pay for my crimes for a very long time," Garrett continued, his eyes darkening as he regarded his former friend, "just the same as you'll pay for yours. We know what you did, Coulson, and this is long past that 'two wrongs don't make a right' bullshit."

Coulson only nodded, his shoulders slumping as he was hit by resolution and the realisation that the only way to draw this whole nightmare to a close was to play along with whatever his uninvited visitors insisted.

Standing slowly from his desk chair and pushing it backwards, Coulson regarded Garrett.

"Okay, so what now?" he inquired, "I take your hand and we fly out of the window or something, back to your tortured past and the moment S.H.I.E.L.D. let you down, driving you towards an alliance with Hydra?"

Garrett only grimaced, quite visibly disturbed by Phil's lack of understanding.

"I already told you God knows how many times. You need to get your ears syringed?" He stated grimly, "This isn't about me."

"So what exactly are you gonna show me?" Coulson asked, puffing out a sigh of impatience and irritation that Garrett deflected with a smirk.

"Whatever it is you need to see," he offered cryptically, nodding down towards Coulson's hand as he added derisively, "and there'll be no flying out of windows or holding hands. I'm not Peter Pan and you sure as Hell ain't Wendy."

"So how exactly do we..." Coulson began, instantly silenced as he suddenly found himself standing in the expansive hallway of a very grand house. Darkness shrouded the them but two things were instantly apparent; the furious screams of a woman and the sobbing of a small child.

"Oh, they can't see us by the way... Incoming!" Garrett added flippantly, nodding toward the expansive staircase, which was suddenly flooded with light. A woman in an expensive, pale blue, silk robe dragged a distraught boy down the stairs, hardly caring that his little legs couldn't keep pace with her angry strides.

"You come here!" she shrieked, dragging and man-handling the child as if she intended to rip his arm clean out of the socket. "You stupid, dirty, disgusting, little shit! You think I'm going to clean up after you? We talked about this before, know what's going to happen!"

Coulson blinked at the sight of the boy, who couldn't have been any older than four or five. His dark hair was swept over his forehead, matted to the skin by sweat, but it was the panic in his eyes that Coulson was certain he'd never forget.

"Big boys do not wet the bed!" the woman - Coulson assumed to be his mother - ranted, holding him tightly around the wrist as she pulled him across the hall towards a door located underneath the stairs.

"No, Mommy, no! I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Please don't put me in there!" the child tugged at her arm in an unsuccessful attempt to free himself, but his parent was much stronger than him and on his second bid for freedom she brought down a heavy, hard slap upon his cheek.

The crying increased in fervour and Coulson looked away quickly, almost embarrassed by the scene unfolding.

The woman, Mrs. Ward, shook her son's arm hard for good measure, jarring the little boy almost off his feet. With her free hand, she yanked open the door to the basement and flung him into the darkness. The door slammed hard behind the young Grant, who instantly dissolved into hysteria, screaming like a wounded animal and pounding on the door with his small fists.

"Please... No... Please... No... Please..." he chanted, clearly terrified beyond all measure as the darkness and shadows surrounded him.

Coulson froze, blood running cold in his veins whilst he listened to the broken sobs of the child trapped behind the door. He recalled his own childhood, how different it had been from the Hell he was witnessing, and how his own mother had tucked him into bed each night with a gentle kiss to his forehead and a smile that seemed to radiate her love for him. Standing beside Garrett in a hallway that betrayed more money than any person could spend in a lifetime, Coulson shuddered, sickened and horrified by the scene that had already played out over two decades ago.

"Shut up! Shut your mouth!" the woman roared, resting her back against the door and slumping over, her breathing erratic and ragged as her own fury took a physical toll on her body, "if I hear one more sound from you, I swear I will open this door and make you sorry you were ever born."

"Because he wet the bed?" Coulson whispered, momentarily forgetting that he could not be heard as he peered askance at his former nemesis, who simply bowed his head and nodded.

Even John seemed upset by the woman's complete lack of humanity or maternal love towards her child, and as he raised his head and levelled his gaze at a portrait of the family that hung on the wall to their side, he added quietly, "She did far worse. I'm... I'm not going to show you that, but they made me watch it..."

Coulson craned his neck as he saw Garrett's face cloud over with revulsion and guilt; he couldn't tell just who the revulsion was directed at - himself, or the Ward matriarch. Silence fell on the hall and, after catching her breath, the dark haired woman paused to check for further sniffles or sobs. When she heard nothing but the steady ticking of the grandfather clock, she glided up the stairs satisfied, plunging the house into darkness once again.

Taking a few steps across the vast hall, Coulson laid his hand against the door, surprised when it felt firm to his touch. From within he heard a little voice whispering a hushed mantra.

"Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry."

All too soon the door before him disappeared and instead of the darkened hallway, he found himself standing next to Garrett in what appeared to be a study. They looked over three young boys who stood lined up before their father's desk in an almost regimental row. A slightly older Grant stood in the middle, head hung in a similar fashion to the smaller boy beside him. Both stood to attention, backs straight, hands clasped behind them, though their chins remained pressed against their chests in an obvious reflection of their fear.

"I'll ask you again; who broke the vase? You know this is one of your mother's favourites."

Silence reigned and Coulson watched as the tall, dark haired man strode up and down in front of his sons.

"If you all stay silent, you'll all have to be punished," he warned, his handsome face contorting into an insidious smile that left Coulson in little doubt as to how much he would enjoy chastising his off-spring. "Christian... do you know who broke the vase?"

Christian nodded, shooting a sly smirk at the youngest child as he said confidently, "It was Thomas. I saw him do it."

Grant elbowed his older brother, a hiss escaping his lips, "Liar! It was you!"

The youngest child, presumably Thomas, straightened up in an instant, his brown eyes widening impossibly as the gravity of the situation dawned upon him. He feebly shook his head, sending locks of dark hair tumbling into his eyes.

"I... I.. It wasn't me..." he lisped, bottom lip trembling and threatening the immediate descent of tears. He peered at his two older brothers, his crestfallen expression appealing for some kind of help, which Coulson was suddenly under no doubt would not come from the eldest Ward child. Instead, Christian stood with a smirk twisting his lips, watching with obvious interest as his father trained his eyes upon Thomas.

"Well, the vase didn't jump off the bureau and break itself now, did it, Thomas?" Mr. Ward sneered, leaning down into the young child's face, causing him to cringe.

Christian only grinned wider as Thomas shook his head again, his little legs beginning to tremble as his fear got the better of him.

Coulson continued to watch, a strange sort of anger building in his chest as he surveyed the scene.

"Now, how should you be punished?" mused Mr. Ward, making an obvious show of pausing and stroking his chin thoughtfully. The silent tears began to slip from Thomas' eyes at the same time that a patch of urine darkened the crotch of his trousers. However, before Mr. Ward could take note of the full extent of his son's terror, Grant sucked in a single, deep breath and stepped resolutely forward. Although his slender shoulders trembled, the boy raised his eyes to meet his father's, summoning every last ounce of courage he possessed in his body.

"I did it, Dad," he stated quietly, injecting remorse into his tone to mask the way his voice broke.

"He was telling the truth," Coulson murmured, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand, "the whole time, he was telling the truth, and I never believed him."

Obviously all too aware that the whole situation was a cruel game between himself and his oldest child, Mr. Ward smirked at the poorly conceived bravery of his middle son. For he and Christian, it was nothing more than sport but he hid the truth behind the veil of an angry parent.

"Christian... How do you think we should punish Grant?" Mr. Ward mused, arms folded across his broad chest as he regarded his trembling nine year old son.

Christian shrugged, a sadistic smile forming on his lips as he stated, "I think you should use the belt, Dad."

Their father pretended to ponder this for a few moments before he nodded in agreement and walked over to his desk. Coulson watched in disgust as Grant bit down on his bottom lip, yet when his father returned to stand before him, flexing the strap of a worn, buckled leather belt in his hands, the child tried to stand as tall as possible in defiance.

"Take off your shirt and turn around," his father barked, ignoring the squeal of despair from Thomas, who closed his eyes as if used to witnessing such beatings. Coulson spun around on his heel, shaking his head repeatedly as the sound of leather striking the child's skin with deadly accuracy filled the air.

"I won't watch this... " he snarled, pushing past Garrett as he strode out of the office and back into the sadly familiar hallway. The sickening noise of the makeshift whip landing against flesh was still clearly audible, and Coulson glared at Garrett with fury behind his eyes.

"Why are you making me watch this?"

Garrett sighed, apparently also affected by the scene.

"Because it's the truth." He placed his hand lightly on Coulson's shoulder and bowed his head. "We've got one more pit stop to make before I cut you loose. And for what it's worth... I'm not proud of what I did."

Coulson struggled out of the other man's grip, disgusted by the feel of his hands on his shoulders. Yet when he stepped backwards, Coulson was surprised to feel browned leaves crunching beneath his feet. He peered around them in wonder, realising that the Ward family home had melted away and in its place was a rather glorious Wyoming forest on a crisp, Autumn morning. The brilliant blue sky overhead was dotted with white clouds, and birds wheeled above as they took flight from the treetops.

"Where are we?" Coulson demanded, his anger momentarily forgotten as the scenery took his breath away. In the distance, he spotted a lake and a clearing just beyond, where a camp site was visible. The smoke from the camp fire unfurled and stretched towards the sky, and a dog barked from somewhere ahead.

"1999," replied Garrett, beginning to stride ahead towards the clearing, pausing only to beckon Coulson after him.

"What happened in 1999?" called Coulson, following somewhat reluctantly in Garrett's wake.

Pushing back branches from trees that blocked their path, Garrett called out over his shoulder. "He'd met me."

They reached the clearing a few moments later and Coulson's eyes scanned the makeshift camp in silent resignation.

"He was just a boy."

"Hey, you're the one that clobbered him with your glove of righteousness. I just... I saw an opportunity and I exploited it."

"Him. You exploited him," Coulson spat, watching as a painfully thin teenage boy stooped over a small fire, his fingers red raw with the cold. The pitiful flames threw out little heat and the coat the kid wore was two sizes too small, providing little protection against the chill in the air or the rain that had begun to fall in large, icy cold droplets. Garrett landed an accusatory gaze on his former colleague.

"And how in the hell is that any different than what you did... Director?"

"That was different, I... He was my agent, I..."

Coulson felt an overwhelming urge to wipe the sudden smirk off John's face, but he was looking into the eyes of a dead man, and it was clear that Garrett was in some way at least being forced to atone for his sins. Coulson wondered if that would be the case for him, too.

Nodding his head, John gestured to the boy now sitting under a tree, a brown Labrador at his side - his only companion.

"He was my recruit and then he was yours."

The reality of the words stung, and silence descended over the men as they watched young Ward shivering and fruitlessly rubbing his hands together. The dog whined at his side, sitting back on his haunches as he lowered himself to the floor beside his master and leant his head on the boy's knee in an act of solidarity. Grant patted his muzzle, trying to ignore the hunger pains that twisted his stomach in knots.

Watching with an increasing sense of shame, Garrett stated quietly, "Control. It was all about control."

"I thought this wasn't about you?" Coulson shot back, crossing his arms as he continued to stare at the oblivious young Grant Ward. The boy shifted closer to his canine companion, no doubt seeking comfort and warmth from the sturdy body, and the loyal character.

"I guess some of it was," Garrett conceded, scratching his head as he looked away, perhaps guilty. "He loved that damn mutt. Almost cried when I shot it."

"You..." Coulson stammered, shaking his head in disbelief at Garrett's admittance. "Why would you do that?"

Garrett shrugged, jamming his hands into the pockets of his black slacks and finally turning to survey Coulson.

"I needed Ward to complete my mission. Didn't want anything to stand in our way," replied Garrett, frowning as he added, "caring was a weakness... Or so I told the Boy Scout."

Coulson made a noise of disgust low in his throat and shook his head, turning away from Garrett in order to focus his attention back on Grant, whose teeth were audibly chattering in the cold.

"I guess this is the part where you tell me you had a troubled childhood too," Coulson said scathingly, not bothering to so much as glance at Garrett, who took a step forward to bring himself back to Phil's side.

"Nah," Garrett chuckled, glancing towards the sky as he admitted, "my childhood was pretty damn good. I was just a jackass. Now I see my mistakes, it's too late. Too late for me and too late for that poor son of a bitch there."

Coulson felt something suspiciously like self-loathing bubble up from his gut, and Skye's face flashed before his eyes, her gaze conveying just how disappointed and secretly heartbroken she had been, both at the events of the day and the fact that it was Coulson who had been blinded by rage in such a way.

Garrett jammed his hands in his pockets, scuffing at the ground with his boot.

"He loved her, you know..." at Coulson's surprised frown, John added, "your little hacker babe. Despite all of this... Hell, despite me, his parents, his brother... he really did love her."

"That's why you had Quinn shoot her," Coulson said, realisation suddenly sinking in. "because she dented his armour. She was dangerous."

"Guilty as charged," Garrett chuckled, more for effect than out of genuine humour. There was nothing he found even mildly amusing about his past sins any more.

"If you weren't already dead, I'd kill you," Coulson growled, eyes narrowing and hands clenching into fists at his sides as he stared at John. To Coulson's annoyance, Garrett only guffawed, his eyes twinkling with a familiar mischievous glint.

"Still missing the point, Phil," Garrett scolded, returning his attention to Ward as Coulson bristled at his side. "You need to work on those anger issues or they'll eat you up inside, poison everything around you- just ask him."

He gestured towards Grant with a nod of his head before turning back to Coulson, his faint grin lacking any real amusement or humour.

"Oh that's right," he said, chin raised and arms crossed, "you can't."

Coulson gritted his teeth, his jaw set in anger - perhaps there was all together too much truth in Garrett's words. Either way, this conversation was making him uncomfortable; or perhaps it was the emerging guilt that had begun to gnaw a hole in him. He cast a final glance down at Ward, watching as the boy dug in his pocket and produced a piece of crumpled paper containing what looked like scraps of meat.

"This is the last of the rabbit," he said out loud, his brown eyes softening as he saw the dog's reserved yet hopeful gaze land on the morsel of food. Patting Buddy on the head, Ward placed the open paper down in front of the animal and in two bites it was gone. Ignoring the nauseating rumble in his own stomach, Grant looped his arm around the dog and cuddled closer to the faithful beast, his eyes sad and downcast as his friend licked at his face in thanks.

"How long was he out here?" Coulson's voice was quiet, lacking its usual confidence. Garrett refused to answer, his lips pressed into a tight line. There were many reasons his soul was perhaps eternally damned, but Grant Ward was the one that truly made him feel as though he deserved the full wrath of the Universe.

Striding out of the clearing with Coulson in tow, he finally replied, "Five years."

Coulson's mouth fell open and yet before he could reply, he found that his shoes were once again sinking into soft carpet instead of leaves and bracken. He peered around them, realising that they had returned to the quiet solitude of his office at the Playground and that Garrett was occupying his chair, fingers folded together as he stared off into space pensively.

"This is where I get off," Garrett stated, his usually jubilant tone subdued and sombre. "You just sit tight and... Well, somebody will come by to tell you what's what."

"So I get it now," said Coulson, sounding inexplicably angry for reasons he himself could not explain, "you're like, what, the ghost of Channukah past?"

A small shrug of his shoulders and Garrett rose, fixing Coulson with a look that was unreadable.

"Well, I'm an aetheist... was an aetheist... But I guess so. It's been wild, Phil. You take care of yourself now and pay attention. Don't wait to learn your lessons like I did 'cos this whole penitence thing is a ball ache. But, if you don't, then..." a smirk twitched at his lips, "I guess I'll be seeing you later."

With a dramatic click of his fingers that was more for show than anything else, John Garrett disappeared, leaving Coulson alone with his thoughts.

Claiming back his seat from the now absent spirit, Coulson sank down into the leather upholstery and propped his chin on his hands. The seconds ticked by until he finally reached over to his drawer and retrieved a document that had become something of an obsession of late.

Opening the manilla file, he pulled out the printed copy of Ward's records, the inner pages of which were now marred by his own erratic scrawl. He flicked hurriedly to Ward's S.H.I.E.L.D. admission records and psychological profile, the fingers of his flesh and blood hand growing sticky with sweat.

The details of Ward's childhood contained in the pages of cursive had been ruthlessly brought to life by Garrett and Coulson now knew that nothing written there could ever truly highlight the depravity and evil that had surrounded Grant Ward from his cradle to his grave.

Coulson sighed out loud, scanning the lines of text with an increasingly heavy heart. It was only when he felt someone standing over his shoulder that his attention wavered.

"A little light bedtime reading?"

Rearing back in his seat, Coulson's head whipped up and he affixed his impossibly wide eyed gaze upon the young man standing before his desk.

Arms prone at his sides, Grant Ward stood over the S.H.I.E.L.D. director with obvious purpose. Ward flicked his dark eyes upwards, allowing them to land on the guilt ridden features of his former employer, but he elected to forgo words of greeting - he had, after all, more important matters to attend to if he was to keep her safe.

"You and I need to talk, boss."


	3. Chapter 3

**A Chrismukkah Carol**

 **Part III**

There are moments in life that will remain etched into your memory until the day you die. For Phil Coulson, staring into the eyes of the man he had ruthlessly murdered only twenty four hours before was one such moment.

"Ward?" he managed to choke out, swallowing the lump that rose in his throat as he dragged his eyes away from the face of his former agent and one time nemesis. "But you're..."

"Dead?" Ward supplied helpfully, his jaw tightening as he folded his arms across his chest. "No. I'm not. At least not yet, anyway. Truthfully, I don't know where I am. Could be Hell for all I know, but then I figure I'd probably deserve that."

Coulson winced, failing to comprehend Ward's garbled explanation, "What do you mean? I... I thought..."

Ward's eyebrows shot up as he interjected, "You thought you killed me? Yeah. Funny thing happened right after you crushed my ribs with your little robot toy, there. That thing that was in Simmons' boyfriend? I guess it didn't like the fact you killed its host, so... you're looking at its new ride."

"You're alive..." Coulson whispered, something almost akin to a faint spark of hope flickering in his eyes.

"For the time being," Ward admonished, quickly glancing away from the director as he found himself no longer able to meet the man's gaze, "once it leaves my body, well, I guess that's it. For now I'm as good as a ghost, just kind of... drifting."

He trailed off, peering down at the floor as a mixture of sorrow, regret and fear crashed across his features in rapid succession. Coulson watched, dumbfounded, his bionic hand twitching unbidden in his lap.

"I never really believed, you know?" Ward stated, although his tone bore a faraway quality, as though he wasn't truly speaking for Coulson's benefit. "All that stuff about God, Heaven, Hell... Fairy stories... That's what I thought."

"I suppose we're all guilty of that," Coulson added softly, eyes flicking to the menorah that still stood on the edge of his desk, sporting half spent candles and years of grime that he was downright ashamed to behold.

"Still, when I was a kid, I prayed so many times," Ward continued quietly, pursing his lips in a half frown, "I asked God to make it stop. Just make it all stop... But it never did. So now I'm left wondering, was I born bad? Is _that_ why I wasn't worth saving?"

"What your parents did, I... I can't imagine what that was like. And then Garrett, it's... I wish I'd have understood before."

Ward laughed, although it was a cold, dry sound, and there was no mirth in his eyes.

" _Understand me_?" he repeated as if the idea were ludicrous. "I thought... I thought maybe Skye..."

His smile was sad but then he spoke again, his voice growing stronger, suddenly laced with disgust, "But how could she feel anything for a man like me? A deluded son of a bitch. Those were your words, right?"

Coulson shook his head helplessly, unprepared for such a confrontation- to face the only person he had ever refused to help; who, it turned out, had been the one more deserving of it than most.

"She does..." he replied uncertainly, watching as Grant began to pace the floor like a caged tiger. He supposed that's what he was now that he had succumbed to the fate of being trapped inside his own body, nothing but a bystander to whatever the creature chose to do with his form, until such a time that he was permitted to finally die.

"Skye, she told me she understood. That you and she are the same. That... it was because Garrett got to you first, that..." Coulson stammered, a kind of desperation taking hold of him as he struggled to get through to Ward.

Having anticipated a different response to such a revelation, Coulson was surprised when Ward stalked angrily toward him.

"Don't make excuses for me. I'm accountable for my own actions... everything I did, every shitty decision I made, that was all on me."

Glancing up at the younger man with an unreadable kind of calm, Coulson bobbed his head.

"I used to think so too, but you're wrong, Grant. Your past made you who you became. You are," he faltered, blanching at the poor choice of tense, "were, capable of more. There's so much you could have done, that you could have become."

"Now you think I had potential?" Ward chuckled, clearly ready to draw an end to the conversation. "It's too late for me but it's not too late for Skye. I need you to help her. The creature wants to bring you down, and it's going after the Inhumans first, gathering an army. I can't watch it hurt her. Whatever you thought about me, whatever you believed - I loved her."

Coulson met his gaze with a sigh, struggling under the weight of the realisation that had come far too late for him to act upon. "I know."

"So, that's why I'm here," Ward stated decisively, taking an almost hesitant step towards Coulson and gesturing for him to stand. "If I can do one good thing before I die then this is it."

"Okay," Coulson agreed, climbing to his feet and pushing back his desk chair. "Then let's go."

No sooner had the words left his lips than the painted walls around them had melted away to the harsh red brick of a warehouse. Suddenly, the carpeted floor underfoot was replaced by grey concrete, and it became apparent that the entire perimeter was lined with wooden crates, the contents of which remained a mystery. Coulson's gaze was soon drawn to the centre of the room where, on an upturned crate, a familiar figure sat, clad in the army greens that he had worn on their last meeting. Coulson shot a glance to the Grant Ward standing at his side, and he noted for the first time that the spirit of the man was sporting a familiar brown leather jacket and blue jeans.

Without a word, Ward tipped his head in the direction of the creature that now inhabited his body. It sat upright on the box, back erect and knees bent at a sharp angle, whilst it repeatedly flicked a quarter up into the air and caught it again between its thumb and forefinger. The action seemed to have the creature hypnotised, much to the obvious chagrin of the older man seated across from it on a second crate.

When it eventually spoke, the voice was as familiar to Coulson as his own, and beside him Grant's lip curled in revulsion.

"You wanted to get even with me? You wanted to see me pay? This is your chance," Ward spat, the venom in his tone all too clear as he listened to the thing that had hijacked his body lay out plans to murder one of the only people he had ever allowed himself to care for. "If anything happens to her, I swear to whatever is running this show that I will haunt you to the end of your days."

Coulson noted how Ward's jaw was tensed in steely resignation and his fists were clenched at his sides, belaying his fury and frustration.

"I would never, ever have hurt her," Ward closed his eyes as he tried to drown out the sound of his own voice echoing in his head.

"I know that, too," Coulson assuaged him, watching as the two men before them gathered around a computer screen where video footage of Skye, Joey, and Lincoln was being played on loop.

"She's magnificent, isn't she?" Malick said with a grin, and the creature nodded in approval.

"And you're sure she won't join us?" It checked, once again beginning to roll the coin between its fingers.

"She's loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D. A protégé of Coulson's," Malick relayed, pausing the footage on an image of Skye using her powers against a veritable wall of Hydra operatives, who had all found themselves unceremoniously blasted across the room only seconds later.

The creature released a decisive sigh, "Well then. She has to die."

Coulson's brow furrowed and he felt a familiar anger surge through his veins; any plot against his team was not only a personal attack but an assault on his whole organisation, and he had vowed long ago not to be the director that let S.H.I.E.L.D. fall again.

"You have my word, Ward. I'll make sure Skye and her team are okay."

Coulson arched an eyebrow as Grant let out an ill timed puff of laughter. His sadness was almost palpable and when Ward turned to face him, Coulson was shocked to find the man's eyes misted over with tears.

"You think I care what happens to him?" he glared at the image of Lincoln on the computer screen, grinding his teeth in displeasure. "He's gonna get my girl."

Swallowing the empty platitudes poised on the tip of his tongue, Coulson simply turned back to observe the scene before him, resolving to drink in every last detail of Malick's plan so that it would certainly fail before it had truly even been set in motion.

As the director listened, Ward kept his eyes trained on the image of himself, his expression giving little away.

"Promise me you'll put that thing down for good," Ward finally whispered, his voice eerily blending with that of the creature as it spoke simultaneously, outlining some new strategy or other to Malick, who listened with rapt attention.

"I promise," answered Coulson, his eyes momentarily fluttering closed as he realised that there was now no way to scrub clean the blood staining his own hands. He had not only murdered Grant Ward, but also left him vulnerable to an entity that, even in death, would continue to exploit and abuse his corpse. From beyond the grave, Ward continued to suffer; a fact that once would have brought great satisfaction to Coulson. Now, however, he was no longer certain that the former Specialist deserved any of the sadness or cruelty he had reaped in his short life. Everyone was entitled to a little peace.

"I've seen enough, here," Coulson said bitterly, disgusted perhaps more by himself than by the actions of Malick and his cronies.

Ward nodded, "This was all I was meant to show you. I... I don't even know how this works."

Momentarily lost in thought, Coulson frowned, asking almost hesitantly, "What if there's a way to get that thing out of your body? If we can buy some time and maybe find a way to fix..."

"No," Ward snapped, resolute. "Cross it off. By whatever means necessary. Just make sure it dies. You owe me that much."

Reluctantly, Coulson pressed, "Do you ever wonder what it might have been like, if things had been different?"

Ward shrugged and, though it was meant to be a nonchalant gesture, there was regret etched across his handsome features.

"I don't think a wife and kids was ever in my future. Not exactly a station wagon, white picket fence kind of guy. I was damaged goods, I'd have become like my parents... eventually."

"No. No, you wouldn't," Phil objected, hesitating momentarily before he continued, "Ward, take me to Skye. She left earlier and I'm worried about her."

"I don't..." Ward began, rubbing his stubbled jaw with his palm as he finished, "I'm not sure I can."

"Just try, please," Coulson pleaded, reaching out and seizing Ward's arm in a vice like grip as he added, "I know I have no right to ask you for anything but you claim you still care about her, so show her to me... Please."

Ward stood still for a moment, his eyes ticking from Coulson to the creature squatting in his body to Malick's beaming face and back again. It was too much for any one person to take in in the space of hours alone and the experience was beginning to take a visible toll on Ward. Although he was nothing more than a spirit - a shadow of what he had once been - his features appeared drawn and tired, like he still bore the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"You're the present, right?" Coulson checked, smiling at Ward's single nod of confirmation. "Well, it should be possible. I want to see Skye, wherever she is, whatever she's doing right now."

Ward opened his mouth to speak, yet he faltered before any words left his lips as he suddenly found himself in unfamiliar surroundings. Turning in confusion, he found Coulson also looking suitably bemused; until, that is, they noticed the figure sitting in the darkness over by the window.

Coulson had quickly ascertained that they were standing in a cheap motel room, yet there was a distinct absence of clues as to the specific location of Skye's chosen refuge. Releasing a sigh of relief, he watched in silence as Skye sat at a worn, flip down table, glass clutched in her hand, which was pressed against the curve of her cheek. There was no light in the room save from the flashing advertisement boards and headlights of the passing cars outside and so, as he stepped forward to get a closer look at his runaway agent, Coulson heard rather than saw the series of anguished sobs that tumbled from her trembling lips.

"Oh, Skye," his voice was nothing more than a gentle lament, and he stood in the silence that followed immediately after, finally realising the weight of his crimes. Not only had he killed the man that Skye had perhaps still loved but in doing so he had inadvertently robbed her of the surrogate father-figure she had also come to adore.

"I can't be here," Ward blurted out, his eyes wild and haunted as he stared unrelentingly at his former love. He spoke aloud to the room, or perhaps to the heavens themselves; Coulson wasn't entirely sure just who the master of their fate and the evening's journey would prove to be, and Grant himself appeared similarly oblivious.

"I don't want to see this. Please. I don't want to see this."

Yet even as he spoke Ward was stepping from the shadows, moving to stand at Skye's side, wearing an expression that was every bit as heartbroken as hers. Just as he had tried to protect Thomas, he had always tried to protect her, but now he had failed for the final time and nothing he did or said would ever make a difference again. He could never tell her that out of all the regrets he held onto from this life, it had been hurting her that weighed the heaviest on his heart and conscience. Leaning down so that his mouth ghosted the shell of her ear, he whispered softly, knowing that she could never hear his heartfelt words.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

Skye swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, breathing hard as she struggled to regain control of her emotions. She was visibly trembling, whether from anger or sheer sorrow alone it was impossible to tell. Skye lifted the half empty tumbler to her lips and sucked down the remaining whiskey in one gulp, gasping as she straightened up and the acrid liquid began to hit the back of her throat. With a clumsiness that comes only with a mixture of too much alcohol and bone weariness, Skye reached blindly for the bottle that stood on the edge of the table and wasted no time in refilling her glass. She drank that down too in record time, slamming the tumbler back down onto the table as soon as she had finished so that she could begin pouring more.

"I've screwed up everything I've ever touched in my life," Grant groaned, reaching out a tentative hand as though preparing to stroke the crown of Skye's head. However, he hesitated when his fingertips were mere centimetres from touching her, and withdrew his hand completely, drawing it into his chest as though he had been burned.

"Now look what I've done to her," he finished mournfully, his eyes downcast as he took a step backwards, increasing the distance between them.

Skye, completely oblivious to the presence of her spectral visitors, continued to swipe away the tears that tripped her cheeks, her lips set in a grim line. Draining the last few dregs of amber liquid from her glass, she suddenly sprang to her feet without warning and, in one swift motion, a furious wail pre-empted the glass being hurled violently across the room.

It smashed against the wall, shards of broken glass flying, and wreaking the kind of havoc she usually despised. Yet she continued on her destructive path, sweeping out a hand and upending the few sparse ornaments and the outdated TV from the nearby dresser, with a fresh gasp of pain and rage.

"You stupid son of a bitch!" she shrieked, brushing her cheek with the back of her hand in an attempt to catch the tears that ebbed from her eyes.

Ward and Coulson exchanged looks, both devastated at finding themselves unable to help Skye in her pain, and uncertain as to whom she was directing her rage at.

Collapsing onto the bed, Skye held her head in her hands and sobbed quietly into her palms. Ward stepped forward, perching at her side and staring straight ahead, clearly nothing less than destroyed by the sight before him.

Skye curled up into a fetal position then proceeded to bury her face in the gaudy, patterned covers. That was when Ward saw it clutched in her hand.

It had been a gift from their days back on the Bus, before the world had fallen down around them, when group movie nights and family dinners had occupied their time, instead of lies and betrayal.

The silver key chain dangled from her fingers, and the body of the robot jiggled and danced absurdly.

He'd pretended to be unimpressed by the teasing gift when she'd presented it to him, but it had sat on his night stand every day thereafter, serving as a constant reminder of the vivacious girl with the impossibly deep eyes and the smile that made him want to be all the things she believed he was.

Without returning his gaze to Coulson, Grant spoke, his tone quiet and subdued to a point that rendered his voice almost unrecognisable.

"I'm going to stay for a while," he murmured, reaching out a tentative hand towards Skye's head again but recoiling at the last moment, uncertain as to whether he would be able to make contact with her in his present state.

"She shouldn't be alone right now," Coulson agreed, his gaze never wandering far from Skye.

Grant only nodded, the idea of formulating an intelligible response to Coulson seeming to require far too much effort. His shoulders slumped and his head bowed low, chin almost resting on his chest, forming a pose that eerily mirrored the one Coulson had witnessed just a short time ago, when he had watched a younger Ward stand under the wrathful glare of his father. Everything about Grant's body language suddenly screamed defeat, and Coulson could not shake the terrible feeling that he was responsible for it all.

"Ward..." Coulson began, wincing as he corrected himself quickly, "Grant?"

Finally, the man looked up, although the action was grudgingly undertaken. He met Coulson's gaze but his pain was written plainly across his features, the familiar and comforting mask of the stoic Specialist for once escaping him.

"I'm sorry," breathed Coulson, shaking his head and biting his bottom lip, "you did wrong, nobody can deny that, but... You were right, in the end; we're not so different, you and I... So for what it's worth, I'm sorry for the part I played in this. I should have been the bigger man, just let you and Kara be. Maybe then this whole mess would have turned out differently."

Grant remained silent, although his eyes continued to bore into Coulson's skull, until the director finally began to recognise the emotion he saw reflected there; disappointment.

"After all this, you still don't get it," Ward muttered, turning away, shuffling closer to Skye, whose breathing was beginning to even out, signifying that she had cried herself to sleep for at least a little while. Ward would watch over her, until she woke and reality caught up with her again.

"I... What?" Coulson demanded, confusion evident in his voice, "I thought..."

"We don't have time for this," Grant replied coolly, "the next one is waiting."

"No, Grant, wait!" Coulson yelped in protest, taking several stumbling steps towards the bed. It was a moment before he realised that he was no longer talking to the Specialist, no longer trapped in a grimy motel room watching the woman that was like a daughter to him unravel; he was alone again, standing in his office, whilst the moonlight streamed in through the window and refracted off the star of David that dominated the centre of his mother's menorah.

"Explain it to me then..." Coulson finished in a whisper that was far too late to be heeded, and his head dropped with a sigh.

He ran his hands over his face, once more contemplating the idea that this was all some elaborate dream his conscience had cooked up to torment him. However, he knew on some level that the details and unknown truths he had become privy to were nothing his mind could possibly have conjured.

Coulson found his head was a jumble of conflicting thoughts. The image of his heartbroken young agent would forever be ingrained there, and knowing that ultimately he alone was responsible for her misery stoked the fire of his guilt. Had he only listened to Fitz when he had implored him to show mercy, had he resolved to be the bigger man, had he shown restraint instead of bowing to his own rage, then Coulson did not doubt that things would have turned out much differently.

And it was as he reflected upon Ward and his vigil over the young woman who had taken his death so badly, that he suddenly realised his mistake. Ward had never been in love with 33; she had only offered companionship and affection without question, to a man who had been rejected then demonised by every important figure in his life. Kara had exhibited kindness when Ward had lost everything in the world he cared about; when he had lost Skye - and that had been the start of his undoing.

"I get it," Coulson said aloud, although he was now talking only to air, "we didn't help you and she did. She showed you kindness."

He had little time to remain in his reverie, however, as a sudden chill descended on the office, leaving him shivering against the blast of cold air that swirled around him. Quite dissimilarly to having been in the presence of his previous visitors, this time a deep sense of foreboding began to prick at Coulson, and with building anxiety he watched a figure materialise from within the shadows in the corner of the room.

He could make out no face, and the anonymous nature of the latest ghost was perhaps just as horrifying as its message would undoubtedly prove to be. It stepped forward and Coulson noted that the hooded figure was clad only in black, with even its hands concealed by a pair of worn, ebony leather gloves. He could not tell if it was either male or female, let alone discern its full identity, and when it began to walk toward him Coulson steadied himself for whatever was to come. This would be perhaps the most terrifying of all the visits, for it would show him what was ahead, and it was the future that Coulson now feared above anything.

"You're here... You're the future?" he stammered uneasily, stepping forward and releasing a shaky breath. The being nodded only once and Coulson felt his heart rate pick up. "Won't you tell me who you are?"

The entity remained mute, head held straight as if somewhere beneath the hood that shrouded its features, a pair of eyes were burning straight through Coulson's soul.

"I guess we better get this over with, then..."

Resigning himself to whatever his fate might be, Coulson stepped forward to join the figure and in the next moment they vanished from his office.


	4. Chapter 4

**Only one more chapter to go, and then a epilogue. Thank you all for reading and commenting.**

 **We're initiating a Level 4 Kleenex Warning...**

* * *

 **A Chrismukkah Carol**

 **Part IV**

Much to Coulson's surprise, this time the scene around them did not shift; instead, it was almost as though the sunrise had been put on fast forward, and he watched in awe as from between the chink in the blinds the sky outside grew lighter and the darkness melted away.

"It's morning," Coulson murmured, shooting a look at the spirit, who he gathered it was safe to assume would maintain its deathly silence. Instead of the nod of confirmation that Coulson had expected, the entity instead raised an arm and indicated the desk calendar that sat next to the alarm clock. Coulson frowned as he read the date, wondering what significance it would possibly come to bear.

"13th December 2020," he read aloud, more to fill the unbearable silence than anything else.

Taking a moment to process the information, Coulson nodded and blew out a slow, unsteady breath.

"Okay, so five years in the future. Looks like this is still my office," he briefly toyed with a Captain America bobble head that sat perched on his desk, a new addition, but as he scanned the walls of the room he realised that little else had changed. Before he could offer up another observation to fill the void, he started suddenly as two figures strode into the room, both unaware of his presence.

"Look, I'm just saying that I don't think the team are ready for this. This is on a much bigger scale than they're used to and... they're just not meshing as a group yet, okay?"

Coulson blinked as he saw Skye - or rather Skye five years from the present - with an older version of himself hot on her heels.

"So what are you doing to fix that?" older Coulson demanded, looking and sounding almost identical to his younger counterpart.

Skye planted her hands on her hips and glared at him with an icy expression, "What am I doing? I'm training with them every God damn day of the week. I'm leading team building exercises and freakin' camp outs to try to at least get them to like each other... and nothing works. They're only part of this unit because you told them it was either that or their entire family goes on the register. They're not here because they have any loyalty to S.H.I.E.L. each other."

His lips drawing into a tight line, Coulson Snr. paused for only a moment before he ventured a solution.

"What about Lincoln?"

A dangerously irritated expression settled on Skye's features, and she arched an eyebrow as she planted her hand on her hip.

"You mean the guy I briefly dated, who I haven't seen for almost 4 years? _T_ _hat_ Lincoln?"

The older Coulson let out a sigh of disappointment, crossing his arms as he regarded Skye, who shifted in discomfort under the weight of his gaze. The dark circles ringing her eyes were prominent, indicating that she had had trouble sleeping for quite some time, and the corners of her mouth seemed to be permanently turned down as though she had forgotten what it was to smile.

"You're the team leader, this is on you," Coulson Snr. barked, unimpressed by the levels of discord rolling off Skye in waves. "You make it work or I find somebody who can."

Skye scoffed, letting out a bark of unpleasant sounding laughter for good measure.

"Yeah, well, good luck with that, sir," she retorted, shaking her head as though she could hardly believe her ears, "in case you hadn't noticed, nobody sticks around here for long any more. I wonder why that could possibly be?"

"And in case _you_ need to be reminded, Agent Johnson, Agents Fitz and Simmons requested a transfer to a quieter post ahead of their wedding."

Skye continued to glare at her boss, her eyes narrowing to slits as she folded her arms scross her chest and demanded, "Yeah, and what about Mack? Or Hunter? Bobbi? Joey? What about May?"

"That's enough!" the Coulson from the future snarled, causing not only Skye but also his younger counterpart to startle.

"This damn job... S.H.I.E.L.D... it's all my life is. I get up every morning, I train a bunch of people who hate everything we stand for, and then I go back to my little underground room and I think about ways that I can maybe make them hate us less. I go to sleep then I get up. Lather, rinse, repeat. I can't even tell the days apart, they're all exactly the same. Christmas is two weeks away and I'll spend it at my desk. Like last year, and the year before. Because FitzSimmons will be in England and..." she paused, pinching the bridge of her nose hard to stem tears of exhaustion that had been years in the making. "I have nobody else."

Sitting down heavily in the director's chair, Skye swept her hands across the gleaming surface of his desk.

"So if you want to find a replacement... go right ahead. I have nothing left to give," her voice grew quieter, more reflective as she said sadly, "I don't even remember the girl in the van any more but sometimes, I miss her."

Coulson Snr. frowned, shaking his head as he held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Look, I hear the talk around base and, all that _'cold hearted bitch'_ stuff, just ignore it. Nobody gets to director without making a few enemies here and there."

Skye laughed without humour, running her fingers through to the ends of her short hair, "I never asked for this. Did you ever stop to think that this wasn't what I wanted?"

Giving the impression that he was simply a testy, increasingly exasperated parent, playing along with their petulant child, Coulson retorted, "Then what did you want, Agent Johnson?"

Skye remained silent for a moment, recalling memories and moments that kept her awake at night in a constant state of longing and loss. Their faces she would always remember - Cal, Jiaying, Trip... Ward. Their ghosts appeared to her in dreams, taunting and teasing over what could have been; the safety of her father's arms, her mother's adoring gazes, the laughter of a true friend, and the chance to build a life with someone just like her - somebody who had never gotten a chance to really live.

"Things that I can never have," she said regretfully, turning away from him and grudgingly accepting the folder he thrust in her hands.

"Well, that's just life, Daisy," Coulson Snr. replied, holding up his robotic arm as though to punctuate his point. Skye made a quiet noise of disgust deep in her throat and seconds later she swept out of the office, her back ram rod straight as she disappeared into the hallway with the envelope clutched to her chest.

"I never realised I could be so cruel," the younger Coulson murmured quietly as he watched his reflection sink down into the desk chair and began toying with trinkets as though the whole ugly confrontation with Skye had never even happened.

Coulson hazarded a glance at the spirit, who stood at his side both unmoving and mute.

"Is there more?" he demanded, growing frustrated and equally angry with the way his night was turning out. "I already know what I need to do... Be the change and all that."

Somewhat predictably, the apparition did not respond. However, when Coulson blinked a moment later, he found himself suddenly in a foyer that seemed immediately familiar. It took him several more moments to identify the Triskelion, or rather what appeared to be a newer and modernised version of the old S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Agents bustled around them, oblivious to the two spectral visitors, as they milled about and completed their usual daily tasks.

What did not go unnoticed by Coulson, however, was the fact that the spirit had brought him to stand almost directly in front of a monument he knew all to well. The memorial wall was bigger than he remembered, and Coulson's features contorted into a vaguely terrified expression as he realised that many of the new names etched into the rock were likely sent to their deaths by the version of himself he had just observed.

"All these names. There's so many more than I remember," he said aloud, resisting the urge to reach out and trace his shaking fingers across the engraved surface, simply to test whether it was real or not. But the spirit beside him showed no such restraint, and Coulson watched in confusion as it slowly raised a gloved hand and swept its index finger across one name near the bottom of the list. Coulson blinked rapidly as he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to make out the name, and he stepped closer, eager yet acutely afraid of just what held the spectre's rapt attention.

There was a pause, then he realised, and the pained gasp of despair that left his body gave way to the most crippling grief he could ever imagine having endured.

"No!" he shook his head with ferocity, backing away from the figure as it simply stood before him. "Not her... No. Not Daisy."

The spirit stood perfectly motionless, watching Coulson as he stumbled away from the wall in an attempt to distance himself from the golden writing that read 'Agent Daisy Skye Johnson', in letters so tiny that they seemed almost to mock the significance of her very existence.

"I won't lose her," Coulson yelled, his eyes filling with tears of rage and, above all, fear as he jabbed a finger accusingly at the stone. "I can't lose her. She deserves more than this, so much more than this... They all do."

Cocking its head to one side, the spirit took a step forwards, a gesture that had seemed almost hesitant to Coulson's trained eye.

"What leads to this? Is it Hydra? Is it that creature - that thing Malick dragged through the portal?" Coulson continued, his voice rising in pitch and volume as he raked his hands through his hair, "tell me who is responsible and I swear I will not rest until they're in the ground..."

Coulson trailed off, panting hard as a single tear trickled from his eye before sliding down the apple of his cheek and splashing onto the front of his shirt. It was joined by another and another in quick succession, but Coulson couldn't find it within himself to care enough to attempt to brush them away.

Finally, achingly slowly, the creature moved; a single hand raised to the hood it wore, and carefully it pulled back the piece of dark cloth that had until then obscured its identity completely. Coulson's shook his head in horror, wretched sobs beginning to overwhelm him, and he dropped to his knees onto the cold, hard, tiled floor barely a breath later.

"It's you, D.C.," Skye stated quietly, avoiding Coulson's heartbroken gaze as she settled the cowl she had worn around her shoulders, "you do this."

Coulson swallowed hard, her words forcing him from the throes of grief, and he looked to her aghast.

"No, I would never hurt you, no matter how angry I become. You know that!"

Skye was silent for a moment, her brown eyes cast down towards the ground as she thought over the implications of his actions.

Smiling sadly, she shrugged, "But you do."

Still shaking his head, and brushing away the tears that were tripping his cheeks, Coulson tried to steady his breathing so that he could ask the all important question.

"How? How does this happen? Was it an accident? I... I..." he gaped, at a loss for words. There was nothing that could ever prompt him to harm this young woman, whom he viewed very much as his own. The idea that he was in any way responsible for her death was utterly unthinkable.

"That Bogota mission? It doesn't go so well. My team were out-manned, out-gunned, and totally out of their depth. One of the rogue Inhumans threw a power charge at me. I was too busy trying to get my team and a handful of civilians to safety and... I didn't see it coming. Knocked me out for a good five minutes. Most of the team got out but... they didn't come back for me."

Coulson took a moment to process her version of events, thinking back to the obsessive, cold, and totally unsympathetic version of himself that he had witnessed earlier. Skye had warned him that they weren't ready, but obviously his future self had pushed ahead, regardless.

Sighing deeply, Skye added in little more than a whisper, "Comms. were down and... you wanted to make sure the Hydra base was neutralised. So... you called in an air strike."

"No, I'd wait, there's no way I'd leave you behind," Coulson protested, taking a step towards the woman he was so certain now could not be _his_ Skye. "This is a lie. It's all a lie."

Skye only let out a soft sigh, gesturing to the monument that was now in the background, "I wish it was. I wish I could tell you that you'll wake up tomorrow morning and the slate would be wiped clean, D.C. But that's not how this works and... I think... deep down, somewhere, you know that."

Coulson sank to the floor, pulling his knees up into his chest and hugging his arms around them. Now, he was the one who was devastated, the knowledge of just what his anger would stand to achieve proving far too great a burden for his shoulders to bare.

"After the... After I'm gone, you tell May that you just figured I'd be clear, that the others would have gotten me out, and you were too blinded by your hatred for Hydra, for everything that they had taken from you, to waste those precious seconds making sure," Skye explained, seating herself at his side on the ground but making no move to comfort him physically. Coulson was certain he would have shied away from her touch even if she had, too disgusted with himself to believe that he deserved even a shred of compassion in that moment.

"What then?" Coulson demanded suddenly, tear stained face whipping round to hold Skye under a remorseful look, "what do I do without you?"

Skye flashed him a watery smile, tears beginning to leak from the corners of her eyes as she regarded the man who had once saved her, only to seal her end.

Tilting her head to the side, she replied, "Well, my replacement's been there three weeks..."

"What?" Coulson stared at her askance, "no. I wouldn't... I... Surely I..."

Staring the women directly in the eyes, he peered at her so intensely that she almost shrank back from his gaze.

"What kind of monster have I become?!"

But of course he already knew the answer to that question. He'd known all along, from the moment his fist had pressed down into Grant Ward's chest, and he'd watched the light bleed from his eyes. Coulson knew that the last traces of empathy and humanity had drained from his own body, only to be replaced instead by an unfaltering ego and a sense of false purpose.

Skye cleared her throat, resting her hands on her knees as she worried her lower lip with her teeth. It was a gesture so familiar that it made Coulson's heart ache.

"What is it? What aren't you telling me?" he demanded gently, knowing all too well the expression written across the young woman's unnaturally pale features.

"They let you see all of this for a reason. I don't know why, I just know that there's one choice you made somewhere along the line that set all of this in motion."

His eyes suddenly widening in hope, Coulson interrupted, "So I can change things? It's not too late? How? How do I...?"

He frowned, unable to consider the possibility that something as unbelievable as time travel or divine intervention was even a possibility.

"You've got one shot at this, D.C. Don't screw it up, okay? You get to go back and undo one decision, just one, but you have to know in your heart what that choice was. I don't know how this works or why you've been given a chance to fix things..."

"I know," he said gravely, earning a briefly irritated scowl from Skye.

"You know, this would go a lwhole lot faster if you'd quit interrupting me. Just throwing that out there."

Coulson smiled briefly, shaking his head as he explained, "No. I know what that moment was... I know what I have to do... _to keep her safe_."

His final words were little more than a whisper - an echo of Ward's motivations and desires that he had expressed earlier; 'to keep her safe'. It was all so very clear now and, for the first time in a long time, the sense of purpose that Coulson found himself filled with felt right, motivated by good intentions rather than a drive for revenge.

"I sure hope you're right, Coulson," she murmured, her eyes clouding with a darkness that seemed alien. "Remember, front row centre to the strangest show on Earth. You weren't wrong, huh?"

Coulson could only stare, his heart already too fractured by the evening's revelations to break once again at the woman's words. There just simply wasn't enough whole pieces left.

"Are you ready?" Skye queried, suddenly climbing to her feet and gesturing for Coulson to do likewise. He obliged her, all the while his eyes trained on her face, committing the terrible sight of her sallow cheeks and pale lips to memory, so that he would never again allow such a travesty to occur; a world without Skye was simply no world at all.

"I'm ready," Coulson whispered and, finally, Skye reached forward with a tentative hand, laying her palm so briefly across his forehead that Coulson thought he may have imagined the gesture.

In the next instant, Coulson awoke at his desk, and it was morning.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Chrismukkah Carol**

 **Part V**

It was the sound of his name being called repeatedly that had finally roused Coulson from slumber. When he had sat up at his desk, slightly startled, his first thought had been that the entire experience had been little more than a dream.

But slowly, as he shook the vestiges of sleep from his mind and paused to take in his surroundings, he quickly realised that things were not quite as they had first seemed. A glance at his desk calendar told him it was January 2014, yet even as he chanced a brief smile at this second chance, he realised the infuriated glare of one Melinda May was being levelled at him.

"You fell asleep?" she queried, hand planted on her hip, one eyebrow arched at the S.H.I.E.L.D. director's dishevelled state. "Phil... Is everything okay?"

Shaking his head to dismiss her concern, Coulson leant back in his chair and offered her a non-committal shrug. That was the point at which he noticed his left arm - still flesh and blood - untouched by Mac's axe or the magic of Fitz's tech; of course, at this point, the situation that had called for its sudden amputation had yet to arise. For just a moment, as he stared at the appendage he had become so accustomed to having lost, Coulson wondered what outcome this new choice would yield him.

"Guess I haven't been sleeping so well lately. A lot on my mind, you know?!"

May nodded, offering him a brief yet wry smile. "Tell me about it! Anyway, your problems are about to become one less. The transport team are here. Shall I take them down to Vault D?"

Frowning as he processed her words and tried to estimate just where in his previous timeline he now found himself, Coulson cocked his head.

"Transport team?"

May's mouth drew into a tight line and she regarded her boss sceptically.

"For Ward?" she sighed, "are you sure you're okay?"

"Fine," he nodded, a brief smile tugging at his lips. "Send them away."

"What?" May demanded, eyes widening as she looked at Coulson as if he'd lost his mind.

"You heard me. The deal's off. Tell them we won't be needing them, and... and get Skye to come in here, will you?"

"Phil, you can't be serious," May protested, leaning down on the desk and peering at the man as though he had suddenly sprouted a second head.

"Never been more serious in my life," Coulson replied, a wide smile blooming on his face, "now, where's Skye?"

Melinda's expression grew stony and she crossed her arms as she glared at the director, her displeasure more than evident.

"This isn't you," May stated, shaking her head in disbelief, "someone's gotten to you or..."

"You're right," Coulson interjected, his smile never wavering as he spoke, "someone has gotten to me and this isn't me. But it should be. All that stuff about second chances and S.H.I.E.L.D. being the bigger man... I let it become nothing more than meaningless rhetoric."

May shook her head, and her tone conveyed her obvious displeasure at his direction, just as the scowl on her face aptly displayed her feelings on the matter.

"Yes, and with the rest of the team, I respect that. But... But not Ward. This is different, Phil. What he did..." she laughed, lost for words as if she really shouldn't have to explain herself any further. "Not with him, okay?! He's dangerous."

Coulson appeared to mull over her reasoning, but then he shrugged as he replied, "So you're saying I should have one rule for the rest of the team and one for Ward? I was ready to ship him off to Christian... to sell him out to his abuser."

May flinched at the word, her jaw ticking as she continued to glare at her boss, displeasure evident despite his best efforts to appeal to her better nature.

"I've given everyone a second chance except for him, and I'm pretty sure that says more about me than it does Ward. Look, your pride was wounded, I get it... woman scorned and all that. But..." Coulson sighed heavily, as the future he had witnessed once again flashed before his eyes. "This is a man's life, Melinda. And it's so much bigger than that; bigger than you could ever imagine right now."

The narrow eyed glare she shot him at the barb about her relationship with their now captive colleague didn't go unnoticed, but Coulson was not to be swayed on the subject.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Coulson."

Coulson watched with an impassive smile on his face as May stormed towards the door.

"So do I," he whispered under his breath, feeling his heart begin to hammer in his chest at the implication of what he was about to do. "Oh, and May? Don't forget to send Skye in. There's a few things I want to discuss with her."

Her jaw tensed tightly, May bit back, "Yes, sir."

 **x-x-x**

As he stood in front of the doorway leading down to the vault, Coulson was unsurprised to find that he was trembling; not a mere slight shake of the hand, but his entire body wracked by great shudders that surely would not go unnoticed. He took a moment to suck in a breath, steady his racing heart, and push every last shred of anger he harboured towards the man behind the door away. Finally, when both his head and heart were clear, Coulson opened the door and descended the steps.

The room was in partial darkness, as usual, and Coulson recalled with a jolt a terrified little boy crying alone in the basement. He shook the thought away but hurriedly reached for the control pad nonetheless, bringing up the lights to a more comfortable setting with several taps of his finger.

"Come to gloat?" Ward demanded, his voice ringing out clearly but bearing a distinctly nervous tremor.

Taking a seat in front of the cell, Coulson surveyed the young man, noting the defiant curl of his lip that was betrayed only by the look of fear in his eyes. Just as he had observed with the young Grant when facing up to his father in his childhood, Coulson saw nothing but bravado and uncertainty, and it elicited a pang of sympathy that he would never have guessed he could feel for the traitor.

"The deal's off," Coulson stated, not wishing to waste time by getting into a verbal sparring match with Ward, who frowned at the news and adopted a strangely suspicious expression. "I spoke to your brother a half hour ago. You're staying here with us."

Ward shook his head, as if not understanding the assumed hidden agenda behind Coulson's actions. "And why would you do that?"

Taking a deep breath and shaking his head to convey the sincerity behind his words, Coulson held Ward's gaze and leaned forward in his seat.

"Because I want to help you, Grant. I want to help you become the man you should have been. To give you a second chance."

Spying the scars on the young man's wrist and forehead, Coulson swallowed hard, averting his gaze as he realised just how cruel and dismissive he had previously been of Ward's very obvious issues. Cruelty appeared to have followed the man for most of his life, and it was a trend Coulson now very much hoped to end.

"And what makes you think I want that?" Ward countered, sitting down on his bed and resting his hands on his knees. He reached up and smoothed the stubble on his chin, clearly surprised and highly suspicious of the offer.

Coulson smiled briefly, "Because I know you. You've risked your life for everybody on this plane. You protected them, you fought alongside them, you became their friend. And I don't believe that was all an act."

"Maybe it was," Ward replied, obviously enjoying goading the director, "you saw my espionage scores... you know what I'm capable of."

Allowing a smirk to twitch at his lips, Coulson deflected Ward's defensive tirade with one word.

"Skye."

Ward's smile froze and he shook his head at Coulson, clearly deciding that he was being toyed with, as he had been so many times before.

"I won't play your games any more, Coulson," Ward almost snarled, the pain and betrayal within his eyes evident, "Skye hates me. You hate me. I can't say I blame you all but..."

"Come in here, would you? Stop loitering on the stairs like a creeper. I can hear you," Coulson suddenly called out, smiling almost companionably at Ward as he added, "it's like she forgets we're secret agents."

Ward only stared at the director, his eyes widening as though he truly believed the man had cracked. However, a sudden shuffling sound from the stairwell drew his attention, and Ward watched in shock as Skye stumbled clumsily down the final few steps, a dark bundle clutched in her arms.

Staring at Ward with a curious mixture of loathing and hope, Skye stepped closer until the overhead lights warmed her cheeks, and he could see the uneasy countenance on her face.

"I read your file," she stated, lowering her eyes for a moment before she uttered quietly, "I can't forgive you... at least not yet. But... I understand you. I understand how all this..." he followed her gaze around the cell, "I understand how it happened."

With the wind clearly knocked out of him, Ward cast an unnerved glance between Coulson and Skye. Shaking his head, he held up his hands and looked at her with such genuine pleading that she felt her stomach twist into knots.

"I can take the rest of them playing games with me. But not you," he shook his head, his eyes boring in to hers.

"No games," Coulson said firmly, "these are the conditions, if you agree to them, you stay here with us. If you don't... you'll be taken into S.H.I.E.L.D. custody at another installation. The choice is yours, Grant."

"Go on..." Ward tried not to sound hopeful, but Skye saw his hand shake as it rested on his knee, and his entire demeanour seemed to change. For the first time she sensed vulnerability in him, and the almost robotic persona he had so often adopted was almost entirely gone.

"You can sleep in your old quarters, your possessions will be released back to you. You will attend therapy sessions with a designated psychiatrist. Whatever they suggest - talking it out, medication, or playing with puppets, you do it. No questions asked. Once you earn my trust, you'll be allowed to advise as a strategist. You'll wear a tracking bracelet until I say otherwise. If you want to talk, my office is always open. Otherwise, you're looking at your new best friend. Think of her as your S.O."

Ward remained silent and prone, his mouth opening and closing as he floundered to find words to fill the quiet that had descended. Skye continued to stare at him, Coulson continued to watch whilst wearing the beginnings of a patient smile, and only the static hum of the overhead light made even the slightest sound.

"Why?" Ward finally choked out, his eyes drifting to Coulson. His voice was tight and hushed, and he seemed to have drawn his legs into his own body in a bid to make himself smaller.

"Because..." Coulson began, frowning and momentarily trailing off as he peered at Ward, who only continued to wait patiently for an explanation. "Because anything else would be a grave mistake, I'm pretty sure. You've done your share of bad things but I believe that maybe... They came from your desire to be something better."

Ward was silent, and his chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to think over Coulson's offer, although really, there was only one possible answer to the proposal. For the first time in his life, Grant thought that perhaps he had a future. Whatever it contained, and whatever lay ahead, it had to be better than the life he had lived before- full of loneliness, rage, and a deep-rooted fear that he had thought he would always carry with him.

"So... What do you say, Grant?" Coulson prompted him, watching the younger man's features curiously for any indication as to what his answer might be. Of course, when he had been granted this chance at making amends and had planned out exactly how to go about offering Grant Ward his redemption, it had never once crossed Coulson's mind that perhaps Ward wouldn't want it.

Ward lifted his head and peered back intently at Skye, his Adams apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"I'll take your deal."

A relieved smile passed Coulson's lips, and the next moment he lifted up the pad that controlled the security screen and the holographic barrier fizzled away. Stepping forward with obvious trepidation, Skye walked in slow, measured steps towards her new charge. Holding the bundle of clothes out toward him, she nodded down toward the top of the pile, where a bottle of shower gel and an electric razor were precariously balanced.

"I figured you'd want to take a shower..." referencing the shaving equipment, she forced her eyes away from the scar on his arm as she said quietly, "no razors."

"I won't..." Ward began, swallowing hard before he continued, "I won't do anything stupid. Not any more. You have my word."

"Then I guess we'll see just how much that's worth," Skye replied, although her tone was not unkind, and Ward nodded in apparent agreement.

"Great," Coulson enthused, clapping his hands together and actually beaming, despite the odd look Skye shot him. "This is all going to work out. I can feel it in the fingers of my left hand!"

Brows knitting into a concerned frown - and with just the faintest trace of amusement - Skye rewarded her boss with a thoroughly confused expression. "Uh... D.C... Are you okay?"

"Why is everyone asking me that?" Coulson said askance, brushing down his suit jacket as he stood up and saw that Skye was still staring at him. "Yes! I'm fine. Now... I assume I can trust you to be alone with Agent Skye? There are cameras literally everywhere. And I will be keeping a close eye on you at all times."

Ward bobbed his head, holding the bundle of clothing in his arms as he cast a discrete glance at Skye, who remained somewhat awkwardly at his side. He could easily discern her defensive posture, and there was a flash of unease in her eyes that broke his heart. For all the things he was, all the things he had been, there was nothing on Earth that could ever prompt him to hurt her.

"I would never hurt Skye, sir," he replied, hoping she'd hear the sincerity in his voice, "or... or any of the others."

Coulson pursed his lips, once again filled with trepidation as he recalled just how lethal Ward could be. If he were to snap or betray them, their lives were at risk. It would all have to come down to trust, and Coulson assumed that the fates or whoever were responsible for his journey that evening would not have led him to the wrong decision.

"Piece of advice... stay out of Simmons' way and don't even look at Agent May unless you want your larynx turned into a key chain this time. Agent Fitz will be coming down here imminently to fit your tracking bracelet."

Ward nodded obediently, suddenly looking overcome with panic. Coulson smiled, hoping to allay his fears and smooth the ground for the coming weeks and months.

"Fitz volunteered to come down here to do it. He's a bigger man than either of us. And he's never given up on you. Prove him right, huh?"

"Yes, sir," Ward choked out, almost as though the words were an impulse, rooted in the muscle memory he had once described in such detail to Skye during their months training together.

"Good man," Coulson declared, clapping Ward on the back as the former agent passed by the stairs. The man's sudden flinch at the unexpected contact did not go unnoticed by the director, who smiled apologetically as an afterthought.

As Skye watched Ward ascend the staircase ahead of Coulson, his head bowed and his breathing evidently irregular, she paused in the darkness, in the shadows of the vault, where for months they had held captive the man whose misdeeds had had him taken for a monster.

"No," she whispered into the silence, a hopeful smile twitching on her lips, "he's not. But maybe, one day, he could be."


	6. Epilogue

**A Chrismukkah Carol**

 **Epilogue**

For four generations, the pretty brass menorah had been in the family, and one day Grandpa had promised that it would be hers. At just eighteen months old, Vivi wasn't quite sure what significance that held, but from the way Grandpa's eyes watered as he touched each candle with the flame, she was certain it had to be special.

"... _who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion_ ," Grandpa finished, holding Vivi's hand gently in his own and helping her to light the candles. Once all eight were aflame, the little girl beamed happily at the man, chuckling as he pressed a kiss to her olive skinned cheek.

"Way to go, sweetheart," he enthused, carefully taking a step away from the flames, which his granddaughter seemed almost transfixed by.

"Hot!" Vivi said sagely, wrapping pudgy arms around his neck and resting her cheek against the collar of his suit jacket.

Coulson smiled as he noted Simmons approaching, eyes wide, arms outstretched to receive his little charge.

"There she is!" Simmons enthused, peppering the infant's cheek with kisses until the toddler giggled and thrashed in her grip. "Did you have fun learning about fire safety and appropriate festive precautions with Grandpa?"

Rolling his eyes at the leading tone of voice, Coulson sighed good-naturedly and planted his hand on Jemma's shoulder.

"I think the five fire extinguishers, fire blankets, and multiple burns kits were more than precaution enough."

Jemma tilted her head back in an arguably snooty manner and regarded her boss with derision. "One can never be too careful with a toddler, sir."

Turning her attention back to the sleepy child in her arms, Jemma's features illuminated into a grin once again as she addressed the baby in a sing-song voice.

"And she's such a precious little one, aren't you, darling?"

Watching the infant with a wistful and wholly adoring expression, Coulson replied softly, "That she is."

Tapping the child on the shoulder, Simmons directed her attention to the man who had suddenly moved to stand before them - clad in a Santa suit, complete with a bushy white beard and a hearty chuckle. Holding his round belly with a dramatic toss of his head, he exclaimed with just the faintest tinges of a Scottish brogue present, "Ho! Ho! Ho! And who is this beautiful young lady?"

Vivi's little head turned sharply with a toss of dark, glossy curls, but when her eyes landed on the figure before her, it was all-encompassing terror that suddenly seized her little body. Grasping with surprising strength at Simmon's shoulder, the infant let out an ear piercing shriek, tears splashing from her reddened cheeks as she stared in utter horror at Santa and waved her fists in a demand to be removed from the source of her fear.

"No! No! No! Bad!" she grizzled, shaking her head furiously as she took a gasp and let out another equally ear splitting shriek. Panic stricken and absolutely mortified at having alarmed the little girl, Fitz yanked down the fake beard and tried to make the child focus on his familiar features as Simmons rocked her and planted a reassuring hand to the back of her head.

"Oh, it's okay," she soothed, "it's just silly Uncle Fitz."

"Oh, God... I've scarred her for life," Fitz's eyes widened dramatically, and he pulled off his red velvet, fur-trimmed hat and ducked his head to meet the child's gaze. "Hey! Look! It's only me! Look... it's Uncle Fitzie!"

Refusing to be quietened in her terror, the toddler wailed as Jemma shushed and soothed her to no effect.

"Oh, dear! Let's go and find Mum or Dad, shall we?"

Shooting an accusatory glance at her fiancé, Jemma strolled off in search of more comforting arms.

Coulson only smirked, regarding the appalled Fitz in his get-up as he stood scratching his face where the beard tickled him. Catching sight of the smug expression spread across his boss' face, Fitz jabbed a warning finger at the man.

"Don't say it, just don't bloody say it," he huffed, turning on his heel and storming out of the door of the lounge.

"Oh look, here we go!" Simmons cooed as she spied Bobbi reclining in the easy chair, Hunter sprawled on the rug at her feet as he flipped through a motorcycle magazine.

Bobbi looked up with a smile spread across her face, although the warm gesture faded quickly as she took in the sight of Vivi wailing, her legs kicking furiously and her eyes screwed tight shut.

"Hey Vivian!" Bobbi called out, accepting the child into her arms and attempting to hold her close to her chest, "what's shaking, beautiful?"

Eyes still scanning the team members milling around the Playground living room, Jemma forced a coercive smile, trying to settle the still sobbing child. Beside her, Fitz struggled to free himself of the rest of the costume, casting a pillow he had used for padding, along with the jacket and hat, onto the arm of the nearby couch.

"That's... that's enough, Magic Mike," Bobbi stated, holding up her free hand in a bid to prevent Fitz from shedding his baggy red trousers. Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Fitz glanced pensively around the room as the infant's renewed wails caused several heads to turn in their direction. As he seemed the clear culprit and source of her distress, Fitz shrank back at Jemma's side and forced a weak smile.

"No!" Vivi shook her head firmly, hoping her point would be re-enforced as she sobbed mournfully, "no... no tanks."

"What, sweetie?" Bobbi hoisted the infant up to try to understand her babbles better, as Hunter chuckled beside her in evident amusement.

"Well, either she feels strongly about the use of armoured vehicles, or she doesn't want Auntie Bob."

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Mockingbird foisted the screeching baby onto her husband, "Here, you try, then!"

"Not a girl in the world can resist my charm," Hunter said, winking confidently - although it was a confidence that was short lived as Vivi howled even further upon being placed into his arms.

"I don't know how to... to fix that," Hunter stated, awkwardly holding out the child to Jemma, who tried to shush her with comforting whispers and a gentle rocking motion.

"Right. Okay. Needs to be a parent. I completely understand. Now, where are Mummy and Daddy, eh?" Jemma said aloud, sighing as she failed to locate either of the toddler's parents, and the tired child continued to cry forlornly, perhaps having even forgotten the source of her anguish.

"Mama..." Vivi agreed in a loud, prolonged wail that made Jemma's eardrums reverberate almost painfully.

"Working on it," Simmons soothed, patting the little girl's back and shifting her weight into her opposing shoulder.

"What's going on in here?" demanded Skye, poking her head around the doorway of the lounge and peering across the room to where Jemma, Bobbi, Fitz and Hunter had all assembled, desperately making faces and attempting to tickle the toddler into a more buoyant mood once again.

Vivi's head whipped around almost immediately and she flung her arms out towards the doorway in a silent plea.

"Oh, hey sweetie... it's okay," Skye soothed, hurrying over to scoop the baby into her arms and immediately brushing kisses against her now sweaty temple and tear-stained cheeks. The child quietened almost instantly, sucking in shaky breaths as she tried to calm herself against the safety of her mother's chest. Little fingers wove tightly around the fabric of Skye's red plaid shirt, and she leaned ever closer into her mother's embrace.

Shooting her friends a playfully accusatory glare, Skye demanded, "Guys... what did you do to her?"

Bobbi and Hunter held up their hands immediately to redirect guilt to other parties, whilst Jemma winced apologetically and held out the child's small, stuffed lizard toy to her in a peace offering.

"Look, Viv... it's Louis the lizard!" Skye said softly, her breath ghosting over her daughter's cheek as she took the toy from Jemma and placed it between the infant's hands. Almost immediately the cherished toy was in a vice like grip, and the little girl was content once again.

Looking immediately mournful, Fit hung his head as he stated regretfully, "I broke your baby. I'm sorry,"

Simmons patted his arm consolingly, offering him a brief smile and a 'there, there', that caused Skye to swallow down the chuckle about to escape her. Skye hoisted the child up into her arms as she surveyed Fitz's attire with a hiss and a wince.

"Santa? Yeah, she... _really_ hates Santa. We took her to see him in the mall last week and she pretty much raised the place to the ground. Daddy had to save you, huh?" she addressed her daughter, running her fingers through her dark curls and allowing her thumb to linger over the baby's impossibly soft cheek.

Vivi let out a weary sigh and rested her face in the crook of her mother's neck, her eyelids beginning to droop as a consequence of her fit of crying.

"All better now, baby?" Skye checked, rubbing her daughter's back. She shot a look at Coulson, who stood at the side, surveying the scene and chuckling.

"Sorry, it's just... Kid has no problem with the menorah," Coulson explained, holding up both hands in a defensive gesture as Skye, Simmons and Fitz simultaneously rolled their eyes.

"Yeah, well... flames..." Fitz muttered dejectedly, scuffing the toe of his boot across the floor as he dug his hands in his pockets and let out of a huff of indignance.

"Maybe when she's older?" Skye suggested kindly, absently bouncing the child in a soothing manner that was causing her brown eyes to flutter closed, despite her whines of protest against oncoming slumber.

Suddenly seeming invigorated and tearing herself free from the sleepy constraints she had found herself in, Vivian lifted her head from Skye's chest and a slobbery grin settled on her features.

"Dada!" she called out, waggling the fingers of one hand toward the approaching figure as she made sure to keep Louis held securely in the other. Skye turned to find Ward and Lincoln strolling through the door, beer crates and boxes of party supplies clutched in their hands as they jostled toward the kitchen area, from where a plethora of delicious smells were emanating. Feeling her own smile widen at the sight of her husband, Skye watched as he made eye contact with their daughter and placed the crate in his arms on the floor, his attention now well and truly stolen by the tiny person shouting out to him.

"Hey, sweetheart," Ward crooned, pausing to drop a kiss onto the crown of Skye's head before scooping their daughter up into his arms and holding her against him.

"Bad..." Vivi stated solemnly, shooting a look at Fitz, who appeared crestfallen at the sudden accusation.

"What did I miss?" Ward inquired, cocking his head as he glanced at Skye, who appeared to be attempting to hide a smile behind the back of her hand as Fitz glared at Hunter, who was laughing openly.

"Just teaching Vivian about the festive season," Coulson interjected, offering Fitz a sympathetic smile as he added, "warts and all."

Suddenly spying the discarded Santa suit and realising that Fitz was still sporting a pair of comically enormous velvet pants, Ward raised both eyebrows in understanding. "Oh."

"Yeah," Skye nodded, planting her hand in the centre of the child's back. She appeared to be succumbing to sleep once more, her cheek pressed against her father's chest as her breath left her body in soft puffs of air. Skye pressed herself closer and grinned as Ward looped his free arm around her waist, drawing her to him just as he held their daughter.

"Okay, so... I got any volunteers for chopping and peeling duties?" Coulson rubbed his hands together gleefully, surveying his team with a patriarchal kind of pride. The communal groan that followed instantly brought a grin to his lips.

"Sure," Skye agreed, halting as Coulson shook his head and offered her a pointed smile.

"You guys can sit this one out. Between the Caterpillar unit and our youngest team member, I think you two have your hands full."

"Inhuman baby is a... feisty one," Hunter allowed, tilting his head as he deflected Ward's only marginally irritated glare with a smirk.

Thrilled not to be faced with kitchen duty, Skye smiled and began to lead Ward over to the vacant couch, calling over her shoulder, "Thanks, D.C.!"

"No problem," Coulson replied, wasting no time in shepherding both Fitz and Bobbi towards the kitchen, ignoring their raised protests and sighs. Simmons began gathering up the discarded pieces of the red velvet suit, preparing to fold them and perhaps stow them away for future years when Vivi would not be quite so resistant to Santa Claus and his charms.

Lingering in the doorway for a moment, Coulson turned to watch as Skye and Ward settled into one of the couches, carefully laying Vivian down across their laps before entwining their hands. The smiles they exchanged were equally adoring and content, and Coulson could not help but think back to a particular evening almost seven years before when he had been poised to make a very different decision regarding Grant Ward's future. He still wasn't entirely certain whether the events that had led to him changing his mind and calling off the deal with Christian Ward had been the creation of a guilt-ridden and over-active imagination, but nonetheless he was thankful that he had.

"May and Trip are still a little ways out," Bobbi called out from the kitchen, "they're having trouble tracking down fifty percent of the items on your list and May's about ready to stab someone through the heart with a candy cane, apparently."

Glancing up to the heavens, and in reference to his rather prickly right hand woman, Coulson whispered to the powers that be, "She could do with a visit... just saying. Couldn't hurt."

Lingering for only a moment longer, the S.H.I.E.L.D. director couldn't help but smile as he thought over just how different this reality was from the one he had accidentally created with a string of misguided deeds.

Ward had been as good as his word; he'd adhered to every demand laid down to him and strived to prove himself to be a trustworthy agent and eventually an unlikely friend. It had been no surprise that he and Skye had ended up together, and Coulson imagined that the fates had nothing else in mind for the pair. It was impossible to now think of one without the other, and in many respects they were two halves of the same coin - even down to one rather unexpected occurrence. Whilst the memories of Trip perishing in the Terrigen mist still existed in the recesses of his mind, the rewritten timeline had brought with it a much more shocking turn of events; at her side as always, it had been Ward who accompanied Skye down into the underground city. As Raina had placed the obelisk and crowed about the young man's impending death, it had been not two but three who emerged from stony cocoons.

With the ability to control the element of fire and with a chain of flaming links at his command, Ward fought at his wife's side with a much more colourful moniker; Hellfire. The brown leather jacket and easy swagger were perhaps the only two similarities between this Grant Ward and the man who had been doomed to a cruel death on a distant planet.

Coulson had quickly realised that the real Ward was a curious combination of both of his former 'personalities', and he had thrived under real leadership, revelling in finally being part of not just a team, but also a family.

One thing however remained the same from each lifetime Coulson had been privy to; Grant's complete and unfailing devotion to Skye never wavered. He still gazed at her with an expression of awe and adoration, as if even now not entirely able to believe his luck. Then of course Vivian had arrived, and Ward had dedicated himself to fatherhood and the tiny child he was besotted with to a degree that had shocked at least a handful of the team.

Bestowing a final, almost watery smile upon the couple and their sleeping infant, Coulson set out to the kitchen, where a slow cooking brisket and a mountain of vegetables were awaiting his immediate attention.

"D.C. seems a little overly sentimental this evening," Skye observed quietly as she leaned her head against Ward's shoulder and smiled at the retreating back of their director.

Ward let out a low chuckle and carefully encircled Skye with his arm, ensuring that he moved slowly and deliberately to keep from jostling Vivi too much in the process.

"I think it's the time of year," Ward offered, nodding his head towards the menorah, which continued to burn brightly on the window ledge of the lounge. It had become a familiar sight to the team, a routine that Coulson had begun to observe every December without fail, and one that they indulged out of respect and genuine affection for their boss. Even Ward, who was loathed to admit the existence of any kind of higher power, showed a degree of willingness to enter into the festivities that Coulson insisted upon year after year, and with much renewed vigour since Vivian's arrival.

Unsuccessfully stifling a teasing smile, Skye ran her hand up and down Ward's arm, watching as he turned his hand over and waited until she reached his wrist before he threaded his fingers through hers.

"And then there's you, who's... " Skye winced, as if about to impart bad news, "pretty much a sap all year round. Guess I was wrong about the 'robot' thing, huh?"

Answering with only a tender kiss, Ward drew her closer, pressing his forehead to hers and smirking as she brushed the tip of her nose against his. Skye repeated the kiss until she felt Grant's smile widen against her lips. Drawing back, the couple were content to remain entwined around each other, exchanging smiles and kisses beneath the ambient glare of a thousand twinkling Christmas lights. Inhaling slowly, Ward glanced around the room before his gaze came to rest on the perfectly beautiful face of the child sleeping across his knee.

"This life?" he began, his tone tainted with evident disbelief and a healthy amount of wonderment, "still doesn't feel like mine, sometimes."

Resting her chin on his shoulder, Skye ran her eyes over his handsome face and reached out on impulse to allow her palm to flutter against his jaw.

"In a 'this is totally awesome' kind of way, right?" she teased, eyes alive with mirth. The incredulous expression on his face silenced her effectively enough. Seemingly at a loss for words, he turned his head to face her, brushing his lips over her forehead and then her cheek. His lips hovered above hers as he spoke again.

"I still feel like I'm gonna wake up and be back there in that cell, sometimes... hating the man I was and... I don't know," he trailed off and swallowed hard before he continued, "I guess life could have turned out differently."

"For all of us," Skye agreed, tracing her fingertip across the back of their daughter's tiny hand. "But for the record, you're pretty easy to love, you know?!"

Nodding down to the sleeping child, Skye added, "She thinks so too."

Ward flashed his wife a smile, reaching out and cupping her cheek with his hand, "I'm pretty sure that was the last thing you thought you would ever say when I threw a bag over your head and dragged you out of a van in a back alley."

Skye snorted with laughter, shaking her head and covering her mouth with her hand in order to suppress further giggles.

"I guess not but..." she shrugged, her expression softening again, "life has a funny way of surprising you, if you let it. Even after everything with Garrett and Hydra, I knew you had it in you still... to be a good man."

Ward continued to gaze down at his wife - the mother of his child and his partner in every sense of the word - and his eyes narrowed slightly as the memories of three decades of Decembers that had been oh so different to this one flashed through his mind. It was true that Skye had given him everything, without condition, without question and without regret, but he was all too aware that she was not the only one to which he owed his happiness and contentment.

The turnaround he had made in his life had been possible because one man had seen the potential for more inside of him, and elected on a whim to give him a second chance that, to this day, Ward wasn't entirely certain he had deserved. But whether warranted or not, Ward had seized the opportunity with both hands, and carved for himself the kind of life he had always coveted but never dreamed within his reach.

As for Director Coulson, he continued to live his life in the past, the present and the future, just as the spirits and the fates had intended that night when they had set out to prevent him from making the first in a long line of grave mistakes. A kind of change had overcome him when he had shocked everyone by refusing to hand Grant over to his brother, but that change had undoubtedly been for the better.

From that moment, it had been said that Phil Coulson knew the significance of granting forgiveness and second chances better than any man alive ever had done.

May that be truly said of us, and all of us.

 **The End**

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 **Thanks for reading and reviewing, guys. We'll be back next year with plenty more Skyeward fics.**

 **Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight!**


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